The Faceless Man

As thousands stroll through the streets
A Glance of knowing is far too rare.
Is it too much to ask who you are?
My faceless men, with a thousand face

I look deeply into every eye past,
Silently speaking of my hunger through my glance.
Although inside me, the cry is blinding,
For clothes, for food, for a kind word.

As I search for those familiar features, that once held me warm in arms,
A fraction of the pain pounding my heart, trickles down as tears.
For my world has crumbled, and I am lost
I lost my face,
Now I am as faceless as them.

Like fingers passing through a candle's flame, unflinching,
I am not able to touch, the countless you,
Does it hurt not to be seen?
When God gave us all, the gift to see.

The Box

Liberation is a myth with a thousand feathers
Bright and colorful, spread towards the sky
Seducing men like sirens at the sea

Progress was a promise never to be unbroken
A path cut by time and not human

Love is butter that melts,
In the very warmth it was made

Culture is societies pride and dagger
That nourishes and bleeds it the same

Science was never to be told
But discovered for mans endless end

For years human have found boxes
And boxes we stay inside
From ancient to medieval, medieval to modern,
All at the same now

Death was the only way out
Yet we seem to fight against it.